


Crazy for You

by TheMelancholyVegetable



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Boys Kissing, But not that open mic night, First Kiss, M/M, Meet-Cute, Open Mic Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-11 05:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMelancholyVegetable/pseuds/TheMelancholyVegetable
Summary: What if Patrick sang to David at an open mic night the first time they met?
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 18
Kudos: 117





	Crazy for You

**Author's Note:**

> Absolutely, 100%, utterly unbeta'ed.

**David**

“Tell me again why I’m here?” David asks Stevie as they wait for the bartender to notice them.

“I’ve already told you three times. Jason likes this bar. I like Jason,” she replies.

“That explains why _you’re_ here. Why am _I_ here?” David counters, pulling a face at the way his shoes are sticking to the floor.

“Because I don’t know Jason very well and you love me and want me to be safe,” Stevie deadpans at him.

“Fine. But you owe me double.”

“Double?!”

“Yes, double. It’s open mic night,” David says, mouth twisted, the words dripping with disdain.

Stevie frowns at him for a moment, but then concedes. “Fine. That’s fair.”

They finally flag down a bartender and order their drinks. David just orders a whisky. He can’t drink too much if he’s going to do Stevie’s sober thinking for her, after all. They carry their drinks back to the table where Jason is waiting.

Jason is…. Well, he’s fine. He’s tall and thin, with dark brown hair and a slightly vapid expression (Stevie definitely has a type). But he’s nice enough, and anyway, it’s not like Stevie’s going to marry the guy. David considers him short-term tolerable.

Stevie and Jason have their chairs pushed as close together as is physically possible. David, alone on his side of the table, looks around the bar. It’s been a while since he got laid, and if he’s going to survive open mic night sober, he needs a distraction.

He has just about given up hope when he feels eyes on him. He looks over at the bar to see a cute, clean-cut guy watching him, the awed look on his face turning quickly to alarm at being caught, then to embarrassment as he looks away.

David swallows a smile. This could be fun. Cute Guy is wearing a dark blue, short-sleeve Henley that shows off some _very_ nice shoulders, and his short hair reflects copper in the bar light. David waits and watches as the guy throws back his drink, then he gets up and tells Stevie, “I’m going to the bar. Don’t go anywhere without me.”

Without waiting for her response, he makes his way across the room and perches on the seat next to cute guy.

“Buy you another?” David asks in his best sultry DTF voice.

“Um, yes. Sure. Thank you, er-,” blusters Cute Guy.

“David,” he responds as he gestures to the bartender for a refill.

“David.” Cute Guy repeats, then pauses, eyes intent on David’s face. “Well, David, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Patrick,” he finishes, putting out his hand to shake. Which is just, well, adorable really. Patrick is adorable. David clears his throat and takes the proffered hand, Patrick’s handshake firm and confident, and a bit lingering.

Patrick takes a sip of the stout the bartender has deposited in front of him. David mirrors him, taking a drink of his own whisky and turning slightly towards Patrick as he sets it back down. Classic flirting 101.

And it’s working, because Patrick’s blush travels from his ears all the way down his neck and past the unbuttoned collar of the Henley. David wonders how far down that blush goes.

“So, what brings you to this quaint little bar on a Thursday night?” David asks, eyeing Patrick over the rim of his glass.

“Would we call this quaint? Or seedy?” Patrick counters with a smirk. And oh, David likes him.

“Mmm, you said it, not me,” David replies, “But you also didn’t answer my question.”

“Yeah, well, I’m new to the area and I saw the advertisement for the open mic night,” Patrick explains. “Thought I’d come check it out.”

“You’re here for the open mic night,” David says, trying to conceal his disdain.

Patrick must hear it, because he laughs. “Yes, David, I’m here for the open mic night. I enjoy live music. I take it you don’t?”

“I do not,” David replies, taking another sip of his whisky.

“Well, then, same question. What are _you_ doing in this high class establishment? And on open mic night of all nights?” By now Patrick has turned himself more towards David, and with this question leans in closer so that their knees are touching. David appreciates the confidence, especially in contrast to the blushing and blustering from mere moments ago.

“Mmm, see that lush over there?” David nods his head towards the table where Stevie is practically on Jason’s lap. “She’s my best friend, the guy is new and, like you, is a glutton for punishment – I mean, likes live music – so I’m here. To keep her company. In case she needs me.”

“Well, that is very sweet of you,” Patrick says, and it actually sounds sincere, which David is not sure what to do with. “You must be a really good friend to be willing to put up with amateur musicians.”

And there’s the snark. God, this is fun.

“You’re fun,” David says. Why the hell did he say that out loud?

Patrick grins at him and leans in even further. “You too, David.”

God, David really likes the way this guy says his name.

Before David can think of a reply, a bar employee steps up onto the stage and introduces the first performer of the night.

💙🖤💙🖤

**Patrick**

Patrick had been in Schitt’s Creek for two weeks when he saw the advertisement for the weekly open mic night on the community postings board at the Elmdale Brebners. He’d been so lonely since packing up his whole life and running away, despite his landlord’s general chattiness and lack of personal boundaries, that he took a picture of the flyer. Just in case, he thought.

The first Thursday after he took the picture, he thought about going. But it felt weird to bring something from his old life into his new life. Like a badly photoshopped image.

The second Thursday, he thought about it again, but couldn’t think of anything he wanted to sing. He should probably get in a little practice before he got up and performed in front of strangers.

So he practiced. It felt good. He hadn’t made music since moving to Schitt’s Creek. Hadn’t, really, for months before that. He’d felt too weighed down by everything – work, Rachel, his own internal struggles. Now he was free, and the music flowed a little easier from his fingertips, his throat.

And that is how he finds himself here, in Elmdale’s stickiest bar, the third Thursday after he saw the flyer, nursing a beer and awaiting his turn at the mic. He thinks he knows what he is going to sing. He has it narrowed down, anyway, to two songs that he thinks the audience will like. He’s thinking about which one he should sing when the door to the bar opens and a petite woman walks in with two men and Patrick’s heart skips a beat.

He knows he’s attracted to men. Objectively, he knows. But since he admitted that to himself and ran away from his life, he hasn’t really been confronted with that fact. Until now. Because holy shit, one of the guys that just walked in looks like he just stepped out of one of Patrick’s fantasies.

The man is tall, well, taller than Patrick, with dark hair and eyebrows, a broad chest, and legs that go on forever. He’s wearing a leather jacket that fits like it was tailor-made, and jeans with splotches all over that emphasize his… well.

As Patrick’s eyes rake over the man’s body, the man turns and, oh god, he sees him staring! Patrick looks away immediately. He can feel his face flush red.

Patrick finishes his drink in three long pulls. He needs to get it together. But before he even has a chance to think, Hot Guy is sitting next to him offering to buy him a drink.

And he’s not just hot. He’s witty. And cute. And ridiculously fun to tease. Patrick wants to chant his name like a prayer – David David _David_. He’s never been this smitten this fast. Or this turned on.

And all at once, Patrick knows what he’s going to sing when it’s his turn at the mic. Thank god for his cousin Molly’s Madonna phase. He’s pretty sure he remembers it well enough to not make a fool of himself. At least, not because his performance is bad. He might still make a total fool of himself, but he thinks it’s worth the risk.

They continue their banter, Patrick playfully defending each performer against David’s mock complaints. It’s so fun.

When Patrick is on his third beer, the host calls out, “Next up, Patrick Brewer.”

“Tell me that’s not you,” David says.

“I’m sorry, David, I can’t do that,” he responds as he gets up to go to the stage. The look on David’s face is one of abject horror and it makes Patrick laugh.

He grabs his guitar, stashed in the back of the bar near the stage entrance when he arrived, and steps up to the mic. “Hi everyone. When I arrived here tonight, I wasn’t sure what I was going to sing. But for some reason this one just feels right.”

He starts to play, the chords taking him back, momentarily, to simpler times. Campfires with all his cousins, spending the summer learning their favorite songs. Patrick sings the first words.

_Swaying room as the music starts  
Strangers making the most of the dark  
Two by two their bodies become one_

He chances a look up at David at this point, and is at once pulled back into the present. David looks gobsmacked. His friend comes up behind him and he looks away from the stage as Patrick continues the song.

_I see you through the smokey air  
Can't you feel the weight of my stare_

David looks back up at him at “stare” and holds eye contact through the rest of the verse and the first chorus. It’s intense. Patrick feels so many things. He feels powerful and confident, but also like he could melt from the heat in David’s eyes.

He has to break eye contact for the second verse so he doesn’t spontaneously combust. Or worse, get visibly turned on in front of the whole bar.

The song ends. Patrick gets a fair amount of applause, but it doesn’t really register as he leaves the stage and packs away his guitar. Now that it’s over, he’s a little afraid to go back to his seat. What if he really did embarrass himself? What if he embarrassed David?

While he stands there waffling, hand on his guitar case clasp, David’s hand comes down on his shoulder.

“Want to get out of here?”

💙🖤💙🖤

**David**

David is an asshole. He knows this about himself. But how was he supposed to know Patrick was performing at this stupid thing? God, how many disparaging comments had he made about the performers, and about open mic nights in general? Too many, that’s for sure. And now Patrick is going to go up on stage and sing some awful hipster song, and David is going to have to decide whether to pretend to like it or cut his losses and run.

But then a miracle happens. David isn’t going to have to pretend anything, because Patrick is good. Really, really good. And David isn’t sure, but he thinks Patrick is singing at, no, _to him_. Surely not. Surely he was already planning on singing this. He couldn’t have _just_ decided on a song, right? But he said…. And the lyrics. And the eye contact. _God, the eye contact_. David barely registers Stevie’s far-too-pleased “What’s going on there?” before he has to look back. He _has to_. Patrick’s eyes are like a force of nature.

When Patrick finally looks away from him, David turns to Stevie to beg her to let him out of their deal for the night, but she beats him to it. “Jason and I are good,” she says. Then, with a head tilt toward the stage, she adds, “I like this for you,” and walks back to her table and her date.

That is all David needs. He flags over the bartender, who is blessedly not busy, and pays his tab, and Patrick’s for good measure. As soon as Patrick has sung the last “Crazy for you, baby,” David is off his stool and heading to the back corner of the bar.

He asks Patrick if he wants to get out of there (god, why is he talking like bad movie dialogue?!), and Patrick agrees, so he takes his hand and heads for the door. He doesn’t get far before Patrick is pulling back. Shit. He’s being too eager again. He should know better. He shouldn’t-

“I need my coat,” Patrick says, nodding back toward the corner where they have just left his guitar.

“Right, sorry,” David says, inwardly sighing in relief. _Stop catastrophizing!_ , he tells himself.

Within seconds, Patrick’s hand is back in his and they head out into the night. It is only once they are outside that David realizes he has no idea where to go from here. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because before he can think of any options, Patrick is tugging him around the side of the building and leaning back against the brick wall, pulling David in. David follows eagerly.

He cups one hand around Patrick’s head, thumb grazing his cheek, as he leans in to take what he wants. As soon as their lips meet, Patrick’s fingers are tangling in his hair, the other hand tentatively caressing up and down his back.

Patrick kisses like a dream, all soft lips and varying pressure. It’s perfect, until it’s not enough. David teases his tongue across the seam of Patrick’s lips and Patrick opens to him with a whimper that goes straight to David’s dick. Patrick moves an arm around to rest his hand flat against David’s lower back, pinky finger tantalizingly close to the waistband of David’s jeans.

Emboldened, David presses forward with his hips, pinning Patrick to the wall, and grinds against him. Patrick gasps and pulls back, though his arms stay firmly in place around David’s waist.

He looks terrified. David doesn’t know what happened, but he knows from experience that it’s probably him, so he pulls away completely. “Oh god, sorry. That was too much. I know I come on too strong sometimes and I shouldn’t have—"

“Woah, woah, David, slow down. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Patrick says soothingly, grabbing his wrists where his hands were in mid-flail. He guides David’s arms back down to his sides and slides his hands down so that they are holding hands. David forces himself to take a deep breath, reminds himself _it’s not always about you_.

“Sorry. It’s just, historically, the problem is usually me,” David tries to explain. Then, realizing what he’s just said, he backtracks, “Not that anything about this is a problem.” God, he needs to just shut up.

“No, David, it’s not you. And there’s no problem,” Patrick stops, taking a deep breath as if to steel himself, and David’s brain runs through about a dozen possibilities in the space of that breath. None of them quite prepare him for what Patrick actually says.

“I’ve never actually done that before. With a guy. Since I figured out that I like m-,” he stops and takes a shuddering breath, but goes on, “that I’m…I’m gay, I hadn’t met anyone I wanted to do that with. Until tonight. Until _you_.”

Patrick has not made eye contact through his whole speech, looking instead at their joined hands. He looks up now, and all David can see in those honeyed eyes is absolute, crushing sincerity. He can’t help himself; he leans in and presses a soft kiss to the corner of Patrick’s mouth.

Then David takes a step back, pulling Patrick with him, then letting go of his hands to wrap his arms around Patrick’s shoulders instead. He pulls him into a hug.

“Thank you for telling me that,” he whispers into Patrick’s hair.

They stay there, occasionally exchanging soft kisses, but mostly just holding each other, for a long time. But as much as David would like for this moment to last forever, he knows it needs to end. He’s going to have to let go and take the chance that this is it, that Patrick will say goodnight, and will walk away satisfied that he’s gotten through his first kiss with a man. That he’ll go on and live his life and find someone less neurotic, less needy, less _David_. That David will go on being alone.

He tightens his arms around Patrick’s shoulders one last time, then lets go. Unable to bring himself to make eye contact, David leans his head back to look up at the sky as he says, “It’s getting late.”

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Patrick sighs. “Can I get your phone number? I’d really like to take you to dinner tomorrow night.”

David’s head snaps down to look at Patrick. He must look as incredulous as he feels, because suddenly there is hesitation on Patrick’s face and he stammers, “If-, if you want that, I mean. If you don’t, that’s okay. I just thought—”

“Give me your phone,” David interrupts. He can feel himself smiling and he’s not even trying to hide it. He puts his number into Patrick’s phone and texts himself, then saves the contact.

He hands Patrick back his phone with a soft kiss. “I’d love to have dinner with you tomorrow night.”

They part ways, David back into the bar (Stevie _is_ his ride home, after all), and Patrick to his car. As he sits back down at the table, his phone buzzes.

**Patrick**

See you tomorrow, David.

“What’s with the dreamy look?” Stevie teases. “Was the car sex that good?”

“There was no…. Okay, you know what? It’s none of your business, you absolute troll. I’m getting another drink.”

At the bar, he orders, then pulls his phone back out.

**David**

Can’t wait.

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song Patrick sings, Madonna's very first hit song, Crazy for You. There is a [lovely acoustic cover](https://youtu.be/k4OTN9MBoVo) on YouTube that I think would suit Patrick's style.


End file.
